


A Bandage for the Heart

by ParadiseAvenger



Series: Kink Meme Fills [6]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Hiccup took care of himself and the one time he didn’t have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bandage for the Heart

The kink meme request was just for a “Five Times plus One” story.

**X:One:X**

Berk was several shades below freezing in the dead of winter. It was buffeted by cold winds that swept off the ocean all year, but its summers were warm enough when compared to the frosty temperatures of winter. When the grass peeked out from beneath layers of snow and ice, it was rich emerald green. Purple and yellow crocuses showed their faces, daffodils blossomed on the hillside, and a few brave tulips opened their petals. The trees shook off their branches and stretched towards the sun. In summer, Berk was beautiful, but no less dangerous.

Young Hiccup Horrendous Haddock had been playing in the forest, hunting for the trolls that Gobber swore stole all the left socks in the village. Green eyes bright and eager, he had been too focused on peering into the underbrush and hadn’t been looking where he was going. At the time, Hiccup thought the root have grabbed him with intent to rip the skin from his bones, but he was beginning to realize that he had merely tripped.

He limped home, doing his best to hold his torn trousers off the scrape on his knee. He bit his lip and held his head high. He told himself that Vikings didn’t cry over skinned knees and he was going to be the greatest Viking ever, right after his father. He trudged out of the forest, pushing aside branches and leaves. 

A few people in the village glanced at him as he made his way through. Phlegma the Fierce watched him until he was out of sight, but didn’t say a word. Gobber was working in his forge, pounding away and singing merrily. Hiccup marched straight home, pushed open the door, and collapsed inside.

“Daddy?” he called with mingled pride and pain. Now that he had stopped walking, his knee really hurt. A quick glance revealed that the blood had soaked his trouser leg. “Dad?”

The Haddock house was silent and still. The hearth was dark, the room where Stoick slept was lit only by sunlight, and no one answered young Hiccup.

Steeling himself with another whisper of, “I am a Viking. It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Hiccup limped into the small kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets until he found the small box where his father kept bandages and salves for healing. He sat down on the floor with the box and opened it reverently. The box was nearly empty though and contained only a roll of bandages and a small jar of green salve.

Hiccup took a deep breath and rolled up the leg of his pants. Blood, dried and wet, streaked down his leg from his torn knee. He blinked back tears and forced himself to stand. He had to clean the wound. He knew it would never get better if he just left it bloody and dirty. Elder Gothi was always telling his father such things. Hiccup hopped lamely, holding up his pant leg with one hand, and fumbled around. He found a clean rag and got some water from the bucket by the hearth. Then, he sat down with the wet cloth and stared at his knee. 

There was a myriad of scrapes spanning it, but it probably wasn’t as bad as it looked. Hiccup reminded himself of when his cousin, Snotlout Jorgenson, cut himself with an axe and Elder Gothi had to stitch it up. Hiccup didn’t think his knee looked that terrible or was bleeding quite that much. Sucking in a deep breath, he dabbed at the cuts with the wet rag. Tears burned in his eyes as he gingerly wiped at the wound. Unable to bear the pain, he instead washed the blood from his shin.

The wound on his knee was still there when he finished. It stared impatiently up at him and wept blood like Odin’s missing eye. With another deep breath, Hiccup tried to wash it again. It hurt a little less now and he managed to wipe away all the dried blood. The worst of the cuts still bled sluggishly. He removed the pot of salve from the medicinal box and took the top off. It smelled familiar and earthen. Stoick used it on his wounds all the time after dragon attacks.

‘It’s very strong, Hiccup,’ Stoick always said. ‘Gothi makes it from herbs. You only need a little bit.’

Hiccup nodded to the memory and scooped a little bit out on his fingertip. He gently smeared the salve on his knee, wincing as a few clots of blood cracked off and his knee began to bleed again. He dabbed away the dripping blood and took the roll of bandages from the box. Quickly and clumsily, he wrapped some cloth around his knee and cut the end proudly. He rolled up the leftover cloth and put it back in the box. Content, he stood up and the bandages fell off. 

Hiccup sat back down and stared at the small knot he had tied. The bandages hadn’t unraveled, they had just slid down his leg. He needed to tie it tighter, but it hurt to pull it taut. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tugged. The bandage tightened and it didn’t hurt as much as he had expected. He tied it off, stood up, and was pleased to find that it didn’t fall down. 

Hiccup put all the medical supplies on the counter and then limped over to the hearth. He built a small fire and lit it with flint. Then, he stretched out before the warm flames and waited for his father to come home. When the front door banged open and Stoick trudged in, it was almost lunchtime. He was dirty from head to toe, his boots left thick muddy prints on the floor, and his large hands were filthy.

“Hi, Dad,” Hiccup said eagerly. “Welcome back.”

Stoick glanced at him as he washed his hands in the bucket. “Oh, hello, son,” he said absently. His eyes slid across the counter and spied the medical box. The lid was on slightly crooked and he straightened it absently. Peeking inside revealed that there were hardly any bandages left in the roll, maybe just enough to wrap a finger, but such a thing was to be expected where children were concerned. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yes,” Hiccup said proudly, “but I took care of it myself.”

“That’s good,” Stoick said and put the box away in the cabinet.

“You weren’t home,” Hiccup said softly. “Where were you?”

“I had to go to the far pasture,” Stoick explained. “A dragon dug up the fields and they had to be replanted before winter.”

“Oh,” Hiccup murmured. “Well, I… I needed you.”

Stoick dried his hands and faced Hiccup. “As chief, Hiccup, I need to take care of the village,” he explained. “Besides, I see that you can take care of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup whispered and stared at the roughhewn boards at his feet. “I guess.”

Stoick patted his son on the head and sank down in his favorite chair. 

Hiccup limped upstairs to his bedroom loft and lay down on the firm bed. He curled his small arms against his chest, twisting his fingers in the small ties of his tunic. Though it was warm for Berk, cold fingers of pain coiled around his knee and he burrowed under his furs and blankets. Vikings didn’t cry over skinned knees. Hiccup could only think about when he had scraped his hands on the rough roads and Stoick had gently dabbed healing salve into his cuts and then wrapped the injuries with the utmost care. His father’s beard tickled when he kissed the backs of Hiccup’s torn hands. 

His knee throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Tears prickled Hiccup’s eyes, but he choked them back. Vikings didn’t cry over skinned knees, he told himself firmly. They didn’t cry just because their fathers didn’t kiss away the pain. They didn’t cry… but Hiccup was only six.

And he cried.

**X:Two:X**

By the time Hiccup turned ten, he fancied himself a fair nurse. He had tended plenty of his own scrapes and gashes over the years. He hadn’t yet needed stitches, but he figured Elder Gothi would help him if that need ever arose. Then, he was faced with something he couldn’t quite tend himself.

It started with a case of the sniffles. Then, full-blown Eel Pox descended on the village.

Though weak and slender, Hiccup wasn’t the first to catch it. In fact, he held out for nearly a week. With little else to do and his father steering clear of the pox, he found himself in the Great Hall assisting Elder Gothi. He handed out mugs of warm broth, administered medicine, and ground herbs with a mortar and pestle. Then, fatefully, Hiccup began to sniffle. His skin felt tight and itchy, too warm beneath his fur-lined vest but too cold at the same time. He drank some broth and tried to ignore it.

It was late when Hiccup came home from the Great Hall. He was shivering, almost in the throes of fever, and was thinking that if he could only get home and go to bed, he would be alright. Stoick was sitting up at the hearth, poking the embers with the tip of his dull sword. 

“Hey, Dad,” Hiccup said first and hoped the tremor in his voice wasn’t as obvious as it felt. 

Stoick glanced up from the fire, regarded Hiccup, and finally said, “You look pale.”

“I’m alright,” Hiccup said, but then collapsed into a fit of coughing. 

Stoick was immediately on his feet, but he moved away from Hiccup and stood at the door. “It’s good of you to take care of the sick, but you caught it, didn’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” Hiccup tried to say, but his voice cracked. 

“You’re sick, son,” Stoick said sternly. “Go upstairs and go to bed. I’ll let Elder Gothi know.”

Hiccup nodded weakly and dragged himself upstairs to his loft. He collapsed into bed and burrowed down beneath the furs without bothering to remove his boots. Shivering, he clenched his teeth so they wouldn’t chatter and listened to the sounds of his father moving around downstairs. He would have liked to ask his father for a glass of water, but he didn’t. A moment later, he heard the door open and then close. The Haddock House went silent and still in the night. Hiccup closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

The next morning dawned painfully bright. Hiccup woke feeling no worse and no better. His mouth was dry, his lips were chapped, and he was thirsty. His tunic was pasted to his skin with dried sweat and his hair was sticking up wildly. He looked and felt as if he had been put through the wringer. With a groan, Hiccup ran his hands over his face and tried to scrub away the lingering sleep, but only succeeded in making himself feel dirtier. 

“Dad?” he croaked.

The house was silent.

“Dad?” Hiccup called again.

There was still no answer.

Though his limbs felt leaden, Hiccup dragged himself out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. The bucket of water was empty and he forced himself not to fall apart. Taking a deep breath, Hiccup lifted the empty bucket and staggered slightly under the weight. He pushed open the front door and made his way through the village. The streets were mostly deserted. The people who were still healthy were working double and all the sick were bottled up in the Great Hall. 

Hiccup made it to the well and leaned gratefully against the cold stone circle, breathing hard. His eyes watered and his skin itched. Hiccup dropped the bucket attached to a chain into the well and heaved it back out. Weakly, he dumped the water from one bucket to the other and mainly succeeded in soaking himself. Though the water was cold, it felt wonderful. Cupping his hands, Hiccup took a long drink and then splashed water on his face. 

He felt a little better now, but no less exhausted and ill. He sat down on the edge of the well with his hand in the bucket of water, just letting himself breathe. Gobber’s forge was quiet, the stable full of sheep nearby was tranquil, and the sun was buttery on its perch in the sky. Berk was peaceful and resting. 

“Hey look,” came a taunting voice, “it’s Hiccup the Useless.”

Hiccup looked up in time to see his cousin, Snotlout, come around the corner of the stable. His cheeks were flushed and sweat beaded in his hairline, but it looked like he had been working rather than catching Eel Pox. Astrid Hofferson followed at his side, carrying a broad axe that needed a new handle. The sunlight fell across her golden hair braided into pigtails and caught in her wide blue eyes. She regarded Hiccup with no particular emotion. 

Despite himself, Hiccup felt his cheeks flush as she looked at him. Though he would never admit it, he liked Astrid a lot. She was strong and fast. She could wear armor and carry any weapon. She was the best axe thrower in the village. He envied her. He wanted to be like her, but he was just Hiccup. 

“Hi,” Hiccup said lamely.

“What are you doing?” Snotlout asked. “They let you out of the Great Hall?”

“I’m not that sick,” Hiccup protested and his cough didn’t undermine him like it had the night before. He swallowed and touched his neck with his cold hand. Sweet Thor, his throat hurt.

“Sure, sure,” Snotlout grumbled. “But you’re sick enough to get out of working. I wish I was that kind of sick.”

Astrid punched Snotlout solidly in the shoulder and he yelped. “Don’t say that,” she chastised with a strong adult authority. “Chief Stoick asked us to make sure all the longboats are secure at the docks. We have an important job to do.”

Hiccup straightened against the well. “I could help,” he began.

Astrid cut him off. “Chief Stoick said that if anyone saw you, you were to go to the Great Hall.”

Deflated, Hiccup nodded, “Right.”

Then, Astrid started walking and Snotlout had to scramble to keep up with her. He stuck his tongue out at his cousin and Hiccup returned the gesture. Watching their backs diminish from view, Hiccup finally gave into the horrendous cough that had been tickling his throat and chest for the past few minutes. He hacked violently into his hand and then managed to drink some more water. Finished, he picked up the half-empty bucket and dumped the entire thing over his head. The cool water felt wonderful on his skin, freeing his tunic and soaking his hair. He took a deep breath and then shivered.

He would never know it, but Astrid Hofferson looked back at him just in that moment. She watched the line of his small back shake, his arms tremble beneath the weight of the bucket, his legs quiver as he struggled to stand. She thought about helping him, but he seemed to have it under control.

Unfortunately, by the end of the week, the Eel Pox had consumed most of the village. 

Nearly the entire population of Berk was holed up in the Great Hall, tended by Gothi and anyone well enough to carry a tray of medicine and broth. Snotlout got his wish tenfold along with his father and mother. Even Astrid found herself sick, though she had been careful not to have too much contact with anyone who was sick.

Astrid slumped on one of the benches near a roaring fire. Her mother had forced her to take off her armor and put aside her weapons in favor of a wool blanket, though Astrid had protested strongly. Exhausted from coughing and vomiting, Astrid cupped her hands around a warm mug of broth and stared into it. 

Her mother came to sit beside Astrid, her pretty face pale and her eyes ringed with dark circles. Veena the Vanquisher tucked a lock of loose hair behind Astrid’s ear and asked her daughter, “Are you alright? Do you feel any better?”

Astrid shook her head and fought back a roll of nausea. 

Veena pressed a kiss to Astrid’s forehead and it lingered, gauging the depths of her fever. “Your fever hasn’t gone down,” she said finally. “You’ll probably start to feel better if you can eat something.”

Astrid shook her head again. “No, I can’t,” she said weakly.

With an understanding nod, Veena said, “I’ll talk to Gothi. Maybe she has some herbs to settle your stomach.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Astrid whispered and snuggled deeper into the blanket. Her blue eyes wandered over the crowded Great Hall, picking out faces she knew. 

Snotlout was pressed between his parents, the three of them sharing a blanket. The Thorston twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, were cuddled together in front of the fire though they half-heartedly fought over their blanket. Their mother was watching over them pensively, mending a pile of clothes. She spotted Fishlegs Ingerman and his parents among those well enough to assist Gothi. Stoick’s right-hook-man, Gobber the Belch, moved throughout the hall with an air of authority. Stoick was nowhere to be seen though. 

When Veena returned with a cup of water, Astrid asked her mother, “Where’s Chief Stoick?”

Veena looked around and then said, “He’s probably out in the village. With everyone sick, he has to bring in the crops before winter or we’ll all starve.”

“No one’s helping him?” Astrid asked.

“I’m sure someone is,” Veena assured her and pressed the water into Astrid’s hand. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Astrid sipped the water and looked at the hall over the rim of the cup.

It was then that she spotted Hiccup. He was sitting in a distant corner, pressed securely out of the way with a blanket drawn close around his shoulders. He didn’t have a mug of broth or a glass of water. His forehead shone, his hair was mussed, and his green eyes were glassy from the fever. Even as Astrid watched, he shivered and drew himself a little snugger into the blanket. His hands were small, his fingers so slender, and his wrists as thin as twigs.

“If Chief Stoick’s not here,” Astrid murmured, “then who’s taking care of Hiccup?”

“I’m sure someone is,” Veena assured Astrid and felt her forehead again. “Drink.”

Astrid took another sip of water, relishing the cool slide down her aching throat. Though she loved and believed her mother, Astrid watched Hiccup surreptitiously well into the night. He remained in the corner, wrapped in his single blanket, feeling his own forehead with his small hand occasionally. Though Veena had said someone was taking care of Hiccup, Astrid never saw anyone go to him.

**X:Three:X**

It was stupid. It could have happened to anybody, but it didn’t. It happened to Hiccup.

In an attempt to keep Hiccup out of trouble, give him a skill, and make him into a Viking, Stoick the Vast had apprenticed Hiccup to Gobber as soon as he was old enough. Soon after the outbreak of Eel Pox, Hiccup found himself spending most of the days in Gobber’s forge. He liked to work with Gobber and blacksmithing was something he was actually good at. He could sharpen a sword like no one else, even if he still couldn’t quite lift a hammer to pound it.

For two years, Hiccup worked in the forge with nary an incident. Sure, he had whacked himself in the thumb a few times, cut his finger testing the edge of a blade, and skinned his wrists on the grindstone plenty, but that was to be expected. It was when Hiccup turned twelve that he hurt himself badly.

The boy was working at the anvil, pounding the edge of a sword with a small lightweight hammer that Gobber had crafted especially for him. He splashed the keening metal into cool water, listened to it hiss, pushed it into the coals, and pounded again. The edge gleamed like a smile, perfectly sharp and fine enough to cut hair. Pleased with himself, Hiccup put it aside with a short dagger he had given the same treatment to. 

Then, he heard a commotion outside and pushed open the shuttered window. A gust of cold air rushed into his face, pulling back his hair and making his eyes water. 

There were dragons outside. They flew everywhere—cutting through the sky like arrows, spitting fire, tearing down houses. Stoick and Gobber were in the middle of it. Berk hadn’t expected a dragon attack in the middle of the day and they were mildly unprepared. 

“Hiccup!” Gobber shouted when he saw the boy at the window. “Weapons!”

Hiccup nodded quickly and began grabbing as many swords and daggers as he could. He threw them all onto the wide windowsill within easy reach, followed by quivers of arrows, light bows, and shields that he could barely lift. He panted, but didn’t stop for breath. Soon, much of the forge’s supply lay on the sill.

“Good boy!” Gobber shouted when the ringing of metal fell silent. “Get me my hammer hand!”

Hiccup nodded again, rushed to the rear wall of the shop, heaved down Gobber’s replacement hand, and dragged it through the snow. Gobber hefted it easily and gave Hiccup a light push towards the relative safety of the forge. “Stay in the shop,” he said and then added, “just in case I need you.”

Hiccup scurried back inside and watched from the window.

Astrid Hofferson was in the fray, gripping her double-headed axe with fire in her eyes. 

“Astrid!” Veena the Vanquisher shouted. “No! Get inside with the others.”

“I want to help,” Astrid protested. Her voice was high above the wails of the attacking dragons. “I can help!”

“Inside,” Gobber said fiercely and then he shoved Astrid too. 

Astrid tripped into the forge, stumbling over a slew of untipped arrows shafts. She dug her axe into the earthen floor and righted herself with a snarl of disdain. Hiccup slammed the door shut and leaned on it. The wood vibrated with the sounds and motion of battle outside. 

“It’s safe here,” Hiccup told Astrid softly, “for now.”

She glared at him. “I don’t need to be in here,” she snapped. “I’m not you!”

Gobber appeared at the window, his beard singed and his eyebrows smoking. “Hiccup,” he shouted. “Give me my mace and repair this one.”

Hiccup scrambled to heave the mace prosthetic through the window. Outside, Gobber removed his hammer prosthetic, threw it down with a clang, took the new weapon, and rushed off into the battle again. With single-minded determination, Hiccup dragged the mangled hammer prosthetic to the hot coals and dropped it in. He slung his arm over the large handle of the bellows and used his weight to pump air into the coals. They blazed with life, heating the metal until it was soft enough to reshape. Hiccup slung the hammer onto the anvil and began pounding it as hard as he could. He wasn’t nearly as good as Gobber, but it would have to do. 

Astrid watched with mingled annoyance and awe. Though she had seen and handled nearly every weapon on Berks, she had never seen anyone make weapons before.

Then, suddenly, Chief Stoick was at the window. “Hiccup,” he shouted.

Hiccup’s chin snapped up from his work and a smile flit across his face. “Dad,” he said breathlessly.

“Fix this,” Stoick said. Then, he threw a heavy mace towards Hiccup.

Astrid took a moment to think that Gobber had set his hefty prosthetic down on the window. She saw Hiccup’s eyes widen and he scrambled to grab for the mace as it fell. He didn’t quite catch it and the force of Stoick’s toss sent it cracking into Hiccup’s arm. Astrid heard something snap like a dry twig and then Hiccup cried out in pain. Tears welled in his eyes, but he choked them back. He heaved the mace into the coals and used his elbow to pump the bellows.

His arm hung down at his side as he worked and Astrid saw it then. Hiccup’s left arm bent crookedly and hung from his shoulder as if unhinged—broken. Blood dripped down his forearm from the hideous gashes the mace had left on his skin. Hiccup kept his sharp green eyes forward, focused on the task, and he never said anything about it. He worked as best he could all through the dragon invasion.

“Phew,” Gobber said with relief as he pushed open the door to the forge. Astrid turned to look at him sharply and there must have been something in her eyes because he immediately asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Nothing,” Hiccup interrupted and stepped away from the bellows. His arm hung at his side, crooked and bleeding. 

Gobber’s eyes widened. “Odin’s Beard,” he exclaimed and rushed towards Hiccup. “What happened?”

“It’s just a little cut,” Hiccup protested as Gobber painfully eased up his tunic sleeve. 

“A little cut?” Gobber repeated incredulously. “That’s like saying I dropped my leg and decided not to pick it up.”

Hiccup stared at Gobber.

Gobber studied the gashes on Hiccup’s arm and realized they were the hard punctures of a mace. He turned sharply to Astrid and glowered at her. “Did you do this?”

“What? No,” she snapped, still angry that Gobber and her mother had taken her out of the fight. “If I wanted to get past Hiccup, I wouldn’t have needed a weapon.”

Gobber had to agree with that so he turned back to Hiccup. “What happened?”

“Dad threw me a mace to repair and I didn’t catch it,” Hiccup said plainly and wrapped his hand lightly around his upper arm as if he could halt the pain at the source. Within Gobber’s grasp, his thin fingers twitched lamely and he winced as the movement jarred his crooked arm.

Gobber made a disgusted sound and lowered Hiccup’s arm to his side gingerly. “Elder Gothi will have to look at that,” he said. “It’s broken.”

The pain appeared to sink into Hiccup then. He blinked back scalding tears and repeated softly, “Broken?”

“Yes, broken,” Gobber said. “It will take a few weeks to heal, Hiccup.”

“Weeks?” Hiccup repeated. “But, the shop…”

“I managed without you before,” Gobber said, “I can do it again. Go on up to the Great Hall and have Gothi patch you up. Astrid, you may as well go with him and see if you can help out up there.”

Astrid nodded grouchily, hefted her axe over her shoulder, and pulled open the door of the forge. “Well,” she snapped at Hiccup, “let’s go.”

In a daze, Hiccup followed her. His arm hung limp at his side, dripping blood. 

The Great Hall was a mess when they arrived. Astrid immediately disappeared into the commotion, leaving Hiccup standing alone at the threshold. A moment later, Stoick spotted his son and hurried over. He took in the sight of Hiccup’s mangled arm, recognized the marks, and choked back a noise of blended shame and disappointment. He had hurt his son, but any Vikings worth his salt would have been able to catch a mace. 

“You’re hurt,” Stoick said plainly.

Hiccup nodded and his green eyes were bright. “The mace—”

“Have Gothi patch you up,” Stoick interrupted. Then, just like that, he was gone into the bustle of the Great Hall again.

Hiccup just stood there, choking back tears. 

A moment later, Gothi bustled up, took one look at his arm, and immediately sat him down. She tended him with a quick vigor, giving him something bitter to drink so he wouldn’t feel the pain as she straightened his arm, pressed a splint to it, and wrapped it securely with a long strip of cloth. Then, she held Hiccup’s hand between her own gnarled ones and spared it a gentle pat. Her blue eyes were soft and sad, comforting.

Hiccup forced himself to swallow and said, “I’m okay, Gothi. Thanks.”

She patted his hand again and then disappeared without a word. 

Hiccup looked down at his broken arm and gingerly ran his other hand along the bandages. It ached distantly and some blood seeped through the bindings. Until his arm was healed, his life was going to be difficult. Though he only admitted it to Gobber and his father, his left hand was stronger. He wrote and ate, he pounded swords, and he brushed his teeth, all with his left hand. If it was broken, it would probably become apparent that he wasn’t right-handed like everyone else. Breaking the left arm would have been a blessing for any other Viking, but for Hiccup, it was just another curse to add to his collection.

With a painful sigh, Hiccup left the Great Hall.

Over the course of the next few days, no one asked what happened to Hiccup’s arm. They whispered about it occasionally and watched him struggle to do certain things, but no one asked. Astrid never told anyone it happened because Hiccup couldn’t catch a mace and he didn’t mention it either. 

There was a roaring blizzard howling over Berk, rattling shuttered windows and snuffing out unattended fires. Everyone was gathered in the shelter of the Great Hall for warmth. Phlegma the Fierce, Gobber, Veena, and several other Vikings had prepared a massive pot of stew. Everyone helped themselves and settled in to wait out the storm. Stoick the Vast was seated at his usual place with Spitelout to his left and Gobber to his right. 

Hiccup waited until everyone else was seated before he crossed the room. He ladled himself out a bowl of stew with some difficulty. Though his arm was healing, it was weak and ached badly when he tried to grip things. Stomach grumbling, Hiccup carried the bowl back to a shadowed corner table and sat down.

He could feel Astrid watching him as he gripped the spoon with his unsteady right hand. She seemed to always be watching him lately, her blue eyes burning into him at all hours of the day, but she never said anything to him. She just watched, just like everyone else and yet just like no one else. Sometimes, he thought she was going to walk over to him, but she never quite did.

Hiccup lifted the spoon to his lips and ate uneasily. He had never thought about how difficult it was to do things with his right hand until now. The spoon trembled and his hand moved as if it wasn’t connected to him at all. He preferred when they had meals that he could eat with his fingers, but someone was bound to notice he was eating stew with his hands if they didn’t notice his difficulty already. It took Hiccup a little too long to finish off his bowl and there was nothing left for seconds by the time he finished.

Hiccup leaned back and rested his shoulders against the cold stone wall. His eyes roamed over the Great Hall, over his fellow Vikings, over his father, but no one looked up. He ran his hand gently over his arm and wished, not for the first time, that his arm would heal faster.

**X:Four:X**

When Hiccup was fourteen, he decided he didn’t want to be himself anymore. He was tired of being Hiccup. He was sick of screwing things up, of being relegated to Gobber’s shop when dragons attacked, of being shuffled aside by his father like an unsharpened sword. It didn’t help that Astrid was always looking at him with those blue eyes of hers like reflective pools. He wanted to be like her. He wanted to walk beside her instead of always looking at her back. He was sick of being a hiccup.

“Please,” Hiccup begged Gobber for what felt like the fifteenth time. “Please, just let m out there. I need to make my mark.”

Gobber sighed and looked up from the hammer he was sharpening. “You’ve made plenty of marks, Hiccup,” he said evenly and gestured with his clubbed hand to the wall of finely-sharpened weapons. Hiccup had even touched up Gobber’s prosthetics, making them lighter and somehow stronger. The boy was a genius with mechanics and weaponry even if he couldn’t quite lift a hammer yet, but that wasn’t good enough for Hiccup.

It wasn’t good enough for Stoick either, no matter how many times Gobber talked to the chief about it. Until Hiccup killed a dragon, he wasn’t a Viking in his father’s eyes. Until he killed a dragon, he was still just a hiccup and that wasn’t good enough.

“Please,” Hiccup asked again. “Come on, Gobber.”

Gobber stared at the skinny youth with tousled brown hair and bright green eyes like spring grass. Hiccup had the happiest toothy smile and Gobber wished he could see the boy smile more often. “Alright,” he relented. “The next raid, you can come out with me, but you have to swear to Thor that you’ll stay close to me.” 

Hiccup’s face split into the most glorious grin and he nodded emphatically. “Of course, I promise, Gobber,” he swore. 

“Alright,” Gobber said. “Now, no more of this. Get back to work, Hiccup.”

Practically vibrating with excitement, Hiccup turned his attention back to the arrows he was fletching. His small hands were deft and quick and performed the work easily. He also checked each arrow for straightness and made sure the heads were sharp while he was at it. He was the greatest assistant Gobber could have hoped for, but when it came down to it, Hiccup wasn’t Gobber’s son. What Gobber thought didn’t matter the way Stoick’s opinion did in Hiccup’s eyes.

True to his word, when the next dragon raid came, Gobber waved to Hiccup. “Come on,” he called. “Stay close. I’ll not lose another arm for you.”

Hiccup scrambled over to Gobber, looking painfully unarmed with a small dagger wrapped in his small hands. “I promise I’ll be careful,” Hiccup promised. “I’ll watch your back.”

Gobber nodded. Then, with a great battle cry, he hobbled to the edge of the fray. Usually, he would have plunged straight to the center and fought at Stoick’s side, but Spitelout was already there with Snotlout and Gobber had Hiccup at his side. To his credit, Hiccup kept up with Gobber and stayed as close as a shadow. Hiccup wasn’t a coward by any meaning of the word, Gobber realized then. Hiccup just wasn’t strong enough. He had the heart of a Viking, but not the body of one. 

“Look out!” Hiccup shouted suddenly.

Gobber whirled around in shock to see a Gronckle bearing down on him with its jaws gaping open and fire building in its throat. For a moment, he was certain this would be the end and felt stupid for something so little doing him in. Then, Hiccup grabbed the back of Gobber’s shirt and hauled for all he was worth. Gobber stumbled aside and tripped over Hiccup’s gangly legs, but it was enough. The fire scorched the grass where he had been standing only an instant before.

Gobber looked at Hiccup with wide eyes.

The boy was breathing hard, but still smiling and his green eyes glowed in the firelight. “I told you,” Hiccup panted. “I’ll watch your back.”

Gobber couldn’t find the right words, so he just nodded. 

An unearthly howl split the night.

“Night Fury,” Gobber breathed and immediately turned his eyes to the dark sky. 

Hiccup followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything among the inky stars. “Where?”

The sound came again and Gobber jerked Hiccup closer. “Night Fury,” he bellowed. “Get down!”

The jolt of blue fire exploded into a nearby catapult. The rocky base flew apart, the thick planks ripped through the air, and the massive rock that had been primed for firing crashed to the earth. Gobber only remembered seeing the debris coming. Then, there was a period of darkness. 

Gobber’s eyes creaked open and he wiped ash from his face. Veena bent over him with concern, her face swimming in and out of focus. He could see her lips moving, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Astrid was standing nearby, both hands wrapped around an axe and blue eyes shining bright. Her eyes were fixed on something distant. Hiccup, Gobber realized with a jolt. Where was Hiccup? He gripped Veena’s hand and let her pull him to his feet. She patted at his back and shoulders, picking sticks and splintered rock from him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked Gobber and her voice was like the blast of a canon.

“Fine,” he croaked out. “Where’s Hiccup?”

“Hiccup?” Veena repeated.

Gobber didn’t give her a chance to finish. It was then that he saw the boy lying in a pile of debris a few feet away and realized that was what Astrid had been staring at. Hiccup looked too small, too thin, too still. Gobber ran to him with his heart in his throat and heaved off the heavy plank that lay across Hiccup’s middle. He rolled Hiccup onto his back and pressed his ear to the boy’s chest. The heavy thud-thud of his heartbeat was music to Gobber’s ears and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Hiccup,” Gobber said breathlessly. “Can you hear me?”

Hiccup groaned and shifted. Another thick piece of wood lay across his arm and he tugged ineffectively at it. “Stuck,” he murmured.

Gobber hoisted the board off Hiccup and helped him sit up. “Can you stand?” he asked.

Hiccup looked down at himself. The blast of the Night Fury’s fire and the destruction of the catapult had hurt Hiccup far worse than it had Gobber. His eyes were unfocused, there was a gash above his temple that bled freely, and bruises were already darkening along his jaw. A stray rock must have hit him. There were cuts and bruises all along his arms and legs, though they didn’t look as serious as the wound on his head. Hiccup touched the injuries curiously and then looked up into Gobber’s face. 

“I’m okay, Gobber,” he murmured. “I think.”

“Can you stand?” Gobber asked again. All around them, Berk was in a frenzy of fighting and dragons. They couldn’t stay here.

Hiccup nodded weakly and struggled, but wasn’t able to rise to his feet. Quickly, Gobber scooped the boy up and carried him to the forge. He tucked Hiccup safely inside, slammed the door, and returned to fight. He didn’t let himself think about Hiccup until the dragons had been chased away and Stoick was standing with his hand on Gobber’s shoulder.

“Veena told me Hiccup was with you,” Stoick remarked softly.

“He wanted to come,” Gobber said plainly.

“It’s too dangerous, Gobber,” Stoick said. “Hiccup is—”

“Snotlout was fighting alongside his father,” Gobber interrupted. “Astrid’s been with Veena for months now.”

“That’s different,” Stoick said coldly. “Snotlout and Astrid are—”

“Vikings,” Gobber put in and fixed Stoick with a stern look. “Just like Hiccup.”

“No,” Stoick snapped at Gobber. “Snotlout and Astrid need to know what battle is like. Hiccup does not.”

“You can’t keep him locked up in the forge forever,” Gobber protested.

Stoick glared at his oldest friend. Then, the bite left him and he said tiredly, “I just… I want Hiccup to be safe.”

The fight left Gobber too and he put his hand Stoick’s shoulder comfortingly. “Is this about Valka?” he asked.

Stoick didn’t answer and that was answer enough.

“Hiccup was hurt,” Gobber confessed. “The Night Fury took out the catapult and he got caught in the blast.”

Stoick’s face paled beneath his beard. “Is he… is he alright?”

“As far as I know,” Gobber assured his friend. “He’s in the shop.”

Stoick bustled away from Gobber and pushed open the door of the forge. Inside, there was some blood on the floorboards, but Hiccup was nowhere to be seen. Gobber limped up behind Stoick and peered inside the shop. He regarded everything critically, trying to decide if something had happened.

“He must have gotten himself home,” Gobber said finally.

“I guess he’s alright, then,” Stoick murmured.

“It would seem so,” Gobber agreed.

Together, they sorted out the mess left behind by the dragon invasion. There was a lot of fire damage, but Veena had started thinking that the teens could put out fires instead of being in the thick of battle where they were in danger. That way, they could still gain experience and knowledge. Stoick agreed and Gobber began laying out plans for such a fire brigade. 

By the time Stoick dragged himself home, it was nearly dawn. He kicked off his boots, hung his helmet on the peg by the door, and shucked his heavy armor. He was exhausted and all he wanted was to crawl into his bed, but first, he had to check on someone. 

Climbing the stairs as quietly as he could, he swept aside the curtain to Hiccup’s loft. Over the years, Stoick had learned to keep the medical box well-stocked and it lay out on Hiccup’s desk now. Hiccup was very good at tending injuries. Stoick could have apprenticed him to Gothi, but Gobber was doing a good enough job training Hiccup and keeping him out of trouble.

Hiccup was already curled up in bed, his boots kicked off haphazardly and his tunic hanging off his thin shoulder. Walking silently, Stoick looked down at his son’s sleeping face as the morning sunlight slanted over his pale freckled skin. Hiccup had wrapped bandages around his head and had a small block of ice covered in cloth pressed to his cheek as he slept. His bare arms and legs were smoothed with salve and lightly bandaged. 

For a long moment, Stoick stood at Hiccup’s bedside and just listened to the comforting sound of his son’s even breathing. He picked the fur blanket up from the floor and draped it gently over Hiccup’s sleeping form. Then, he went back downstairs and crawled into bed for a few hours of much-needed sleep.

**X:Five:X**

Hiccup’s fifteenth birthday came and went in a day.

Stoick the Vast knew less and less about what to do with his son. Hiccup grew wilder, smarter, braver, and stupider all at once. Every time Stoick turned around, Hiccup had created a new maniac invention to help him kill a dragon. He insisted that he would be the first to kill a Night Fury. He was always waving his arms and puffing up, claiming that the Viking spirit inside him demanded he kill a dragon, so Stoick tried to keep him busy with Gobber. 

That worked for a while. 

Then Stoick looked away for an instant and Hiccup suddenly didn’t want that anymore. He didn’t want to fight dragons, he didn’t want Dragon Training, he didn’t even want to work in the forge anymore. Suddenly, Hiccup wanted to become a bread-making or small-home-repair Viking. More confused than ever, Stoick insisted that Hiccup head off to Dragon Training and told Gobber to keep an eye on him. He let himself pretend that Hiccup might grow into a normal Viking.

That worked for a while.

Stoick began noticing that Hiccup came back with stranger and stranger injuries. Hiccup had never been graceful by any means. He was always scraped or bruised, injured in some way even if he never mentioned what happened, but these injuries were stranger. Hiccup was coming home with bruises covering the length of his body. He had scratches on his face, knees, elbows, and hands. He twisted his ankles all the time. Stoick told himself that Hiccup was falling out of trees again. 

That worked for a while.

Even though it was far from summer and still frigid on Berk, Hiccup seemed to be wet all the time. He came to the Great Hall with his wet hair plastered to his head, his wet tunic clinging to his scrawny form, and his boots squelching terribly. Yet, with every strange new injury came another tale of Hiccup’s prowess in the arena. People started talking to him, eating with him, watching him, and still no one asked about the injuries. Stoick assured himself that Hiccup was finally becoming a Viking. 

That worked for a while.

Then, in one afternoon, everything changed.

The truth came out with the ferocity of a boulder being launched from a catapult. Nothing in the world could have prepared Stoick for it. The injuries were suddenly like bright signs, blood-stained shields, roaring fires. How could Stoick not have seen it? When he left for the nest, he tried to pretend he didn’t have a son. He told himself he was doing this for the good of the village. He never admitted, even to himself, that he was kind of hoping he would come back and find Hiccup gone.

But that never happened. 

Stoick remembered looking up at the blaze of fire. He saw the speck of the Night Fury against it and something even smaller than the dragon. It looked like a dust mote, like one arrow, like a single flower petal. He knew it was Hiccup. Even from where he stood, he could see the beast straining. Though it couldn’t fly, it somehow did. It flew, it strained, it stretched, and it reached. 

Thank Thor, somehow, it _reached_. 

The worst should have been Hiccup’s severed leg, the bone splintered and his foot burned away, but it wasn’t. The wound have been cauterized in an instant and Hiccup had hardly lost any blood from it. The burns were the worst. Hiccup was singed in countless places. Though the Night Fury’s wings had protected him from the tongues of flames, the heat had still licked at Hiccup. His skin blistered, cracked, and peeled. Stoick was beginning to think he would never see pale freckled skin again.

Elder Gothi came to the Haddock house daily. She changed Hiccup’s bandages, smeared salve on his burns, and dressed what was left of his leg. Stoick had never realized how much care a wound needed. Hiccup had always taken care of himself, ever since he was small.

Then, finally, like the sun breaking over the horizon, Hiccup woke. Stoick wasn’t there. The house was empty, but part of Hiccup was used to that. The other part of him was overjoyed to see Toothless’s delighted face when he opened his eyes. He had never realized just how horrible it was to wake up alone after being sick or hurt. 

“Hey bud,” he murmured. 

Toothless licked him happily. 

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

Hiccup worked himself into a sitting position and noticed there was a mug of water along with what appeared to be a prosthetic foot on his nightstand. He sipped the water gingerly even though he was painfully thirsty. He regarded his house quietly. Everything was as he remembered it except for the fact that Toothless was sitting right in his living room, looking like he belonged there. 

“What happened?” Hiccup whispered.

Then, a spike of pain raced through his lower leg and he pulled back the covers to investigate his wound. When he saw what was missing of his leg, his heart stopped. He had been hurt before, but never this badly. Oh, Thundering Thor, his leg was completely missing below the knee and ached agonizingly. Bright pink scars were visible beneath the thick bandages. Suddenly, the prosthetic beside the glass of water had so much more meaning. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he picked up the prosthetic and eased it onto his stump. It hurt, but he expected that. Gingerly, he put his feet unevenly on the floor. Toothless moved closer and rumbled with concern deep in his chest.

“I’m okay, bud,” he assured the dragon. 

Then, he took a deep breath and rose to his feet. Immediately, his aching and underused leg gave out. Hiccup braced himself for the bite of the cold floor, but it never reached him. The support of his dragon, his best friend, was the greatest thing he had ever felt. Toothless pushed Hiccup back onto his feet, but didn’t pull away. His warm breath puffed beneath Hiccup’s arms and hands. His green eyes were soulful and reflected Hiccup’s own.

‘You helped me when I was hurt,’ those eyes said. ‘Now, it’s my turn to help you.’

“Thanks bud,” Hiccup whispered. “What a pair we make, huh?” Then, he leaned against the dragon’s strong neck and hobbled towards the door. Pulling it open revealed a sight he had only imagined in his wildest dreams. He must be dead.

“Hiccup,” came Stoick’s loud voice.

Hiccup immediately took a step back and looked up into his father’s face. Stoick was smiling. Oh, Sweet Odin, Hiccup couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his father smile. “Hi Dad,” he said softly. 

Stoick clapped Hiccup on the shoulder. “Well, what do you think?” he asked and swept out his hand to encompass the dragons and Vikings living in harmony.

“Am I… dead?” Hiccup whispered.

Stoick barked a laugh and said, “No, but you gave it your best shot.”

Hiccup shifted his weight and leaned a little heavier on Toothless. His leg ached and his muscles throbbed from underuse. How long had he been in bed? The last thing he remembered was… fire. Toothless warbled comfortingly, as if he could read Hiccup’s mind. 

Astrid pushed through the crowd of eager Vikings. She smiled broadly at him and Hiccup remembered her support once the truth came out. Even before then, she had helped him. He remembered the night and stars all around them, her arms around his waist, her lips on his cheek. Astrid had been there for him, despite everything, even when his own father hadn’t. Then again, Astrid had been watching him with her beautiful blue eyes for years. 

“Hi, Astrid,” Hiccup whispered.

Without a word, she gripped the front of his tunic, pulled him to her, and kissed him. He was vaguely aware of his hand leaving Toothless’s shoulder, of the assembly crooning at them, and the pain in his legs. Kissing Astrid was everything he had ever dreamed it would be. Her lips were soft and warm. Then, it was over and she smiled at him. Her eyes were bright and blue and beautiful. A moment later, she released him and he stepped back to lean on Toothless again. 

The dragon supported his weight securely, but no one else lifted a hand to help.

**X:Six:X**

The sun peeked over the horizon and painted the sky a lovely shade of red. Astrid was waiting in the Great Hall for Hiccup. Today was her sixteenth birthday. Hiccup had promised to do something special for her and she was excited. She had braided her hair with colored ribbons, but hadn’t done anything else special with herself. Absently, she ran her hand along the ornate plait and wondered if she should have worn a less aggressive skirt.

She and Hiccup had been together for nearly a year. They had shared heated kisses and touches. What if he wanted to take the next step today? A little rush of heat pooled in Astrid’s belly and she forced herself to stop thinking like that. The massive doors of the Great Hall abruptly eased open and a beam of warm sunlight fell across the stones. Astrid perked up and smiled, but the sight of Hiccup immediately brought her to her feet. 

Hiccup was battered. Dark shadows circled his eyes, his lip was split, and his freckled skin was streaked with dirt. Hideous gashes raked across his chest, torn clean through his leather vest and tunic. Blood dripped to his waist like a red coat. Even so, he carried a small picnic hamper and walked with purpose even as he leaned on the pillar for support. 

Toothless squeezed through the door behind his rider, warbling with concern.

Astrid closed the space between them in an instant, all thoughts of hair and romance gone. “Oh, Sweet Odin,” she gasped. Up close, the damage to Hiccup was worse than she had expected. She jerked a stool over to him with her foot and pushed his shoulders gently. “Sit, sit,” she said and then cupped his chin in her hands. “Merciful Gods, what happened?”

“There was a dragon running amok on the outskirts of the village. Dad and I went out to deal with it early this morning,” he explained.

Astrid wiped some mud from his cheek with her thumb. “It did this to you?” she asked. 

“Only a little bit. You’ve seen Mildew’s cabbage field. I fell in a hole,” Hiccup admitted and gestured to the claw marks on his chest. “The dragon was frightened and hurt. Mildew had been throwing things at it.”

Astrid cursed, “That nasty old—”

Hiccup tugged her hand lightly. “I took care of it. The dragon’s in the academy now. Fishlegs is taking care of it and my father will take care of Mildew.”

Astrid nodded slowly and then looked at Hiccup’s battered face. “You came right here? Why didn’t you stop at Gothi’s and have your injuries seen to?”

“I knew you were waiting for me,” Hiccup said. “I didn’t want you to wait longer than you had to.”

Toothless chuffed lightly and lay down behind Hiccup’s stool, his tail twitching across the stone floor. 

Astrid nodded absently and smoothed back Hiccup’s wild hair. “I guess it’s better this way,” she said softly.

Hiccup lifted a brow to hide a little thread of concern that snarled in his belly. He asked, “How so?”

Astrid pressed her lips to a patch of clean skin on his forehead and said sweetly, “Because this way I can take care of you.”

Puzzlement crossed Hiccup’s face and he repeated, “Take care of me?”

Astrid nodded and darted across the Great Hall to draw water from the indoor well. She carried the bucket back over to Hiccup, found a roll of bandages and a pot of salve in one of the supply chests, and hurried back over to him. “Take off your shirt,” she said.

Hiccup just stared at her.

“What?” she asked. “You act like I’ve never seen you without it before.”

A little flush crept up Hiccup’s neck, but he pulled off his torn tunic with a wince. 

Astrid leaned in to examine the gashes. She soaked a rag, dabbed away some drying blood, and looked closer. “These might need stitches,” she said softly. 

“Probably,” Hiccup said. “If you give me a needle and some thread, I can do it myself.”

Astrid’s head snapped up so fast that her braid whipped across her shoulder. “What? Do it yourself?”

Hiccup tilted his head. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’ve stitched up yourself?” Astrid asked. 

Hiccup nodded. “Sure, all the time,” he said. 

“Why didn’t you get anyone to help you?” she asked.

Hiccup studied her expression and wet his lips nervously. “Well,” he admitted finally because her blue eyes were boring into him like they used to when he was younger, “There was never anyone around to help me. My dad’s always out taking care of the village and Elder Gothi is busy. You and I weren’t close when I was growing up so I just—”

Astrid lowered her face to hide behind her fringe of blonde hair and bit her lower lip fiercely. “Oh, Great Odin’s Ghost,” she whispered. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Hiccup tried again. He didn’t understand why Astrid looked so upset. “I’ve done it lots of times. It’s okay, really.”

Astrid snapped at him suddenly, “It’s not!” 

Then, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She didn’t even care that mud and blood were getting all over her clothes. Her mind raced back to all the times she had seen Hiccup alone, caring for himself, tending his own wounds. She had never given it more than a passing thought. She always assumed that someone was taking care of him, just like everyone else in the village did, but no one had been taking care of Hiccup. He had been taking care of himself for so long that the idea of anyone else helping him when he was hurt was foreign to him. 

Tears burned in Astrid’s eyes. How many times had she taken for granted that her mother brought her warm soup, hot tea, and more blankets when she was sick? How many times had Veena pushed the hair back from Astrid’s forehead to feel for a fever and Astrid had thought nothing of it? How many times had her father tended her scraped knees, skinned palms, and sliced face? How often had he smoothed salve on her burns and Astrid had never even thanked him? She forced herself to swallow back the knot in her throat. 

No one had ever done those things for Hiccup. He had always been alone and taking care of himself, ever since they were small. 

“Astrid?” Hiccup whispered and rubbed her back nervously.

“It’s not okay, Hiccup,” Astrid murmured into his neck. She pushed back from him and sniffled quietly. 

Hiccup’s green eyes gleamed in the darkness. 

“If you’re hurt or sick, someone should take care of you. Someone should help you,” she said softly. “It’s the most basic thing that humans do for each other.”

Hiccup regarded her silently, uncertain of what to say.

Astrid tucked her fingers along the line of his jaw and stroked his battered cheeks tenderly. “The next time you’re hurt,” she said, “I want you to come to me and let me take care of you.”

Hiccup protested, “But I don’t need—”

She silenced him with a soft kiss. “No,” she said. “It’s not about need. I want to help you. I want to take care of you, Hiccup.”

“Okay,” Hiccup breathed out. 

Astrid smiled affectionately at him. Then, she wiped the fresh blood from his chest, threaded the curved needle, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She had stitched people up before, but never Hiccup and she didn’t know if she could see him in pain when she was causing it. She reminded herself that she was a Viking and slipped the needle through his torn flesh, tugging it taut.

Hiccup sat quietly before her, breathing lightly. His eyes were fixed on her hands, watching the movements with a cautious gaze. He didn’t make any sounds of pain, but his knuckles whitened where he gripped his trousers. Astrid wanted to take his hand, but she needed both of hers to sew his wound. It didn’t take long once she focused on the task. 

When she finished, she dabbed salve on the cuts and wrapped Hiccup’s chest firmly. In silence, she dipped the rag back into the water and methodically cleaned the mud and blood from his torso and face. He was bruised and scraped in lots of places, but nothing was serious enough to require a bandage. When she was satisfied, she put everything away and returned to sit before Hiccup with her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t know why, but she was afraid of what he was going to say next. 

Hiccup ran his fingertips along the bandages. “That was… a little easier,” he murmured finally. “It’s hard to stitch yourself up, but I never realized how nice it is to have someone else do it for you.”

Astrid let out a shaking breath. “Why wouldn’t you ask for help, Hiccup? I just don’t understand.”

Hiccup looked into her blue eyes and then his gaze slid away. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I just… It always seemed easier that way.”

Toothless crooned softly as if to encourage Hiccup.

After a moment, Hiccup murmured, “My dad is happy when I just take care of myself. He doesn’t need to worry about me anyway.” Hiccup ran his hand along the knee of his injured leg and continued softly, “Sometimes, I wished he would help me, that someone would take care of me, but no one ever did. Even after I lost my leg, no one came to help me, but I have Toothless now. It’s not so bad. If it hurts too much and I can’t walk, he carries me.”

A little sob caught in Astrid’s throat. 

Hiccup met her eyes and she saw the years of lonely hurt within them.

“It’s not enough,” Hiccup confessed finally and his green eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I… I want someone to take care of me if I can’t… I want someone to be there for me.”

Silent in the wake of his confession, Astrid put her arms around him and held him tightly though mindful of his wounds. Hiccup wrapped his arms around her back and buried his face into her neck, breathing deeply. Astrid pulled back just enough to press a kiss to Hiccup’s lips and let it speak all the words she didn’t have the strength to say. Tenderly, he returned the kiss and she felt his desperate pain in the way he held her to his chest. Their tongues danced softly, slowly, and then they broke apart with their foreheads resting together. His breath was warm on her lips and Astrid kissed him chastely at the corner of his mouth.

For a moment, Hiccup didn’t say anything. Then, ever so softly, he whispered, “Thank you, Astrid.”

…

It was a rare clear day on Berk. The sun was shining on the ocean waves, a cool breeze blew in off the sea, and the air was scented by spring. The pass of dragon wings stirred the tall grass as Hiccup and Toothless swooped through the fluffy clouds. 

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Stoick asked admiringly as he looked up at his son and the dragon. 

Astrid followed his gaze and sighed as she watched. They were aerial acrobats, diving and swooping, executing perfect flips and corkscrews. Sometimes, Hiccup leaped from Toothless’s back and the night-dark dragon always caught him. It was beautiful to watch. Hiccup and Toothless were one in the same. They never once faltered, never once let the other down, never missed a beat. 

“Yeah,” she murmured to Stoick. “Yeah, they are.”

The pair cut through the sky as if gravity held no sway over them, as if it meant nothing. They were leaves on the wind and the gods of the sky. They glided through the clouds in a way that was arrogant and heartbreaking, beautiful and dangerous. Hiccup laughed as Toothless whirled in a stunning array of flips and twirls. 

Stoick smiled up at them, shading his eyes with his hand.

With her heart thudding raggedly against the cage of her ribs, Astrid watched as they danced through tricks that made her head spin. Toothless—Hiccup’s wings, his heart, his very soul—never so much as shivered beneath Hiccup and Hiccup never fell. 

Astrid wished she could believe it was because Hiccup was just that good. She wished she could believe it was merely because he and Toothless were that close. She really— _really_ —didn’t want to think that it was because Hiccup had never had anyone there to catch him.

**X:End:X**

Stoick was never really the ‘bad guy’ to me in this. He’s the chief and he has bigger things to worry about, right? This came out kind of strange to me because I intended it to be really angsty, but it just kind of made Hiccup self-reliant. Even when Astrid finally took care of him, he still had it under control, but then it got super angsty at the end so… oh well. I still really like it and I love doing little kink meme fills. It’s so fun!

Questions, comments, concerns? 

Don’t forget to **REVIEW**!


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